


The Mountain with Many Names

by dls



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dls/pseuds/dls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about a mountain, a family, and several lifetimes of work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mountain with Many Names

**Author's Note:**

> A few weeks ago, I had a dream where I sat in the park and read a short story. I woke up with vivid memory of that story and absolute certainty that I have not read it anywhere else. So I wrote it. 
> 
> Written in 2008.

Once upon a time, there was a peculiarly shaped mountain on the edge of the ocean. From the west, it looked like any other mountains with its jagged edges and blooming trees. From the east, however, it was mirror-smooth and blank. When looking at the mountain from the northern village or the southern shores, it gave the unnerving sense that it was incomplete, that someone had split the mountain in half, taking one half and leaving the other behind. That sense of eeriness was strengthened by the fact that no plants grew in the clearing on the east side of the mountain. The whole area was void of any life forms, as if the mountain was waiting for its other half to return and was saving its place.

The townsfolk called it a variety of names, but the most common was the  _Waiting Mountain_. Traveling merchants passing through the town were often startled by this unnatural sight and refused to stay longer than necessary to conduct business. To the inhabitants of the town, however, the mountain had become a natural part of their landscape. The mountain's presence was much like that of air - noted but unnoticed.

That was until a small family moved to the town and chose none other than the clearing on the east side of the mountain to build a small cabin. The majority of the townsfolk was shocked and offered friendly warnings. The family thanked their new neighbors for the cautions but insisted on their choice, explaining vaguely that they would like to be close to the mountain, and began construction at once.

Months passed, the small cabin was built. More months passed, the cabin blended in with the scenery of the mountain. A year passed, the town adapted to the sight of the cabin as they once did with the  _Waiting Mountain_. The husband would sell small sculptures to the traveling merchants while the wife established friendship with the local women, and the small toddler could be seen laughing with other children of his age.

All seemed wonderful and seamlessly smooth, until the husband announced to the town his plans to sculpt the mountain. The town reacted similarly as they did to the news of the family moving into the clearing, passive objections with no actual actions. As such, the husband carried on his plans and began work at once with the same efficiency as the construction of the cabin. Piles of debris surrounded the small cabin and the mountain was no longer mirror-smooth.

Decades passed, shapes appeared. When traveling merchants came to town, they no longer flinched at the sight of the  _Waiting Mountain_  but instead tilted their heads in order to decipher that is it that the man was sculpting.

Over time, the husband's hair turned to a dull gray matching the tombstone of his wife, and soon, his own. The once small boy grew into a man and could be seen courting the local bakery's owner when he was not carrying on his father's mission.

The once blurred edges sharpened under the son's careful and relentless work. Now the townsfolk could make out the vague form of a person embedded in the mountain. The townsfolk began to call it the  _Stone Giant Mountain_ instead of its previous name.

The man and the woman married on beautiful spring afternoon. They lived in the same small cabin, having moved into his parents' bedroom and leaving his old room vacant for a child. The man continued to work tirelessly on the sculpture while the wife remained working at the bakery in town. In the winter, the wife gave birth to a baby girl.

As the infant grew into a toddler, the toddler grew into a child, and the child grew into a teenager, the stone sculpture took shapes and forms. The once blunt edges and rough outlines transformed into sleek lines and detailed work of limbs and body. All that was missing was the face.

The townsfolk whispered excitedly about the sculpture. The entire town waited eagerly for the man to finish the work his father started. Predictions and bets of the completion date were the main topics of any conversation, with the majority guessing the sculpture would be done within the coming month.

The wife relayed the town's anticipation to her husband, as her bakery was now the main gathering places for the townsfolk, and became the receiver for his well-concealed anger. The man ranted about the additional pressure put upon him, raged about his inability to complete the sculpture, and faulted his wife for failing to give him a son to carry on the mission.

The woman could do nothing but acquiesce to his every accusation and demand. She no longer spoke to the man she married, for it might disrupt his thoughts. She purchased him alcohol with the earnings of her bakery, for the alcohol seemed to calm his fury. She accepted all of his drunken advances in bed, for he wanted another child - a son.

None of her efforts were noted, least of all appreciated, by her husband. He ceased working on the sculpture and chose to search for inspirations in a drunken stupor. The bakery's business waned, as all profits went to appeasing the man and none was used to purchase much-needed supplies. Eventually, she sold the bakery to another baker in town, who gave her a generous offer. That day, the woman returned home with no alcohol in hand and tears on her cheeks. She hesitated before the door, not wanting to face her husband quite so soon after suffering the loss of her store. Instead, she walked around the back and toward the sculpture, the one thing that brought them together and tore them apart. She was, or perhaps she wasn't, startled to find her daughter there.

Mother and daughter exchanged a brief look - one that passing strangers give to one another when their shoulders touch unintentionally on the street, one that should not be shared between mothers and daughters, and one that was the consequence of the woman's efforts to appease the man and inadvertently neglect the girl - before the daughter mumbled a half-hearted excuse and scurried off.

The woman stood, staring but not seeing the unfinished sculpture, and wondered where she went wrong. She had done everything he ever asked of her and none was enough. She had given up all that she held dear to become dear to him and failed. She had a daughter who avoided her and only return home for a bed to sleep in. What went wrong? Who went wrong? Was it her or was it the man cursing and shouting for his drink?

Slowly, she went inside the house with a vague sense of determination to fix it all. The confrontation did not go as she hoped. Instead of apologizing and repenting for his behaviors, the man became violent.

He yelled, she cowered. He threw, she ducked. He shoved, she cried. He hit, she fell. He kicked, she begged. He persisted, she did not.

Later that night, the girl returned home to a lifeless mother, a missing father and a group of townsfolk who had seen the man leave and came by to check on the sculpture. The girl accepted their help with her mother's burial and funeral arrangements but declined the offer for a search party for her father. She remained quietly appreciative throughout and observed the lowering of her mother's coffin with distant eyes far too old for a girl of fifteen.

Disappointment over the incompletion of the sculpture and wish for the girl to move into town and away from the small cabin were expressed through heavy sighs and light hugs. When the girl announced that she would remain living in the cabin and finish the sculpture, the townsfolk struggled between relief and unease. They were eager to see the completion of the sculpture but perturbed by the thought of a young girl living alone where her mother died. However, true to their approach to things that required action rather than reaction, they remained quiet and voiceless. The girl requested the townsfolk to bring her whatever food they could spare so she could focus on the sculpture. They nodded in agreement.

The next day, the girl pulled out the dust-covered toolbox from underneath her parents' bed. She carried it into her own small room and never set foot in the master bedroom again. Weighing and testing the tools in her hands, she was pleased to find that they were in decent condition, despite the lack of care over the past years. She set to work immediately, with the tools strangely familiar in her hands and techniques she did not know she possessed. She worked slowly and patiently, unwilling to forego any details for the sake of an early completion.

Food was delivered three times a day by various townsfolk, each then reported back with the latest development of the sculpture's features. A few days later, the young man who brought sandwiches said the chin was completed. A week later, the older woman who prepared the stew praised the meticulously sculpted nose. Several days after, the new bakery owner who provided several baguettes told those gathered in the shop that the forehead was finished.

Early one morning, the girl walked into the local coffee shop, eliciting gasps and stares from the crowd, and ordered a cup of coffee and a scone. Before she could take one sip, she was drowned in murmurs of excitement. Roughly two month had passed since the girl's mother's funeral and she had not left the cabin since. Her appearance in the coffee shop could only mean one thing - the sculpture was finally complete.


End file.
